


The Anniversary

by elliex



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Anniversary, Bonding, Destiel - Freeform, Destiel Day, Eventual Happy Ending, First go through darkness and then find hope, Profound Bond, September 18, Time Travel, changing the future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-17
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-26 21:27:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliex/pseuds/elliex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story was written in honor of Sept. 18th (the anniversary of Cas resurrecting Dean).</p><p>It's dark, violent, and sad AND happy, loving, and hopeful. (The order of adjectives here is <b>very</b> important.)</p><p>I can't give a better explanation or use all the appropriate tags because of Spoilers! </p><p>Hope you enjoy it! -<br/>thanks,<br/>elliex</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Anniversary

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in S09 with some deviations: Sam didn't need saving after he abandoned the third trial (so no deal of any kind was made by Dean). And though Cas is now human, the broken heaven/fallen angels scenario doesn't get any screen time here. Also, Adam wasn't left in hell.

\+ + + + 

_What happened?_ , Sam wondered. One minute he’d been tossing a salad, and the next minute he was wherever here was, and every bone in his body ached. He stretched his throbbing hands out in front of him and stared: When did his hands get so wrinkled? He even had liver spots on the backs of them, for Christ’s sake.

“You okay, Pops?,” a small voice asked. 

“Huh?” Sam asked. The little boy – he was maybe seven years old – with big hazel eyes looked worried. “You okay? Need me to get mom?”

“Uh, uh – no,” Sam stammered. “I’m fine.” The little boy nodded seriously, patted Sam on the arm, and walked off. 

_What the hell is going on?_ Sam wondered. He looked around the crowded room: Everyone was dressed in black. He looked around and didn’t see any displays of grief, real or imagined, so he ruled out a funeral. Which left… a really depressing wedding? Again, Sam thought, _what the hell?_

He stood to leave and nearly crumpled to the ground. _What the fuck is wrong with my legs?_ He panicked, and when a six-foot-four moose panics, it draws a crowd. He quickly had several gawkers standing over him clucking expressions of sympathy. 

A woman with steel-gray curls pushed through the crowd. “Sam,” she said. “What happened?”

“You tell me,” he said. “I fell, and I can’t get up.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Sam did a facepalm – when Dean heard about that, he was going to bust a gut laughing. 

The woman’s mouth twisted in a small smile. “Here, let me give you a hand,” she said, reaching for one of his.

Right then, a familiar face shoved through the spectators – small boned, thin, with eyes as big as his heart. Sam would have known him anywhere, but then he realized that he didn’t. This man had lines around his eyes; what hair remained to him was snow white and fine, and his left hand – the hand that had picked up the penny harboring the spectre of a confederate ghost and saved the Winchesters – was gone. 

“Garth?” Sam asked. The world began to spin around him; if this was Garth, then Sam was… 

Sam reached down and pulled up his pants leg. A deep indentation divided the calf of his right leg; what remained of the muscle was withered and ropey and decorated with scars. 

“Oh, God,” he breathed. “Garth, what’s happening? Where’s Dean?” Sam couldn’t breathe; his lungs hurt, and his heart was flailing against his chest. 

“Get me to Dean,” Sam said. “ _Now_.”

Garth squatted beside Sam and put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, man, take a breath,” he said. He smiled reassuringly, but Sam saw that the smile didn’t reach his eyes, and a chill took root in his soul. 

Garth took his other hand, and between him and the steel-gray-haired woman, Sam was pulled to his feet. She handed Sam a cane. Garth took his free arm in his. “I’ll take it from here, Marta,” he said. 

“Come on, Sam,” Garth said. “I’ll take you to Dean.”

+

Sam let Garth escort him through the room. The somberly dressed crowd parted before him. The click clack of his cane echoed off the silent walls.

“Where are you taking me?,” Sam asked.

“I’m taking you to Dean,” Garth answered quietly. 

“Garth, where are we? I don’t understand.” 

Garth paused, looked at Sam with concern. “Sam, do you understand what’s going on? What today is?”

Sam curled his lip at the shorter man. “It’s September the fucking 17th, and somehow I woke up in a geriatric alter-reality, and I want to find my brother so that we can fix this fucking mess. Now, are you going to help me or not?”

Garth opened his mouth to say something, but then shrugged helplessly. “Of course I’ll help you, Sam. I always do.”

Sam turned his head back and saw they’d only come about thirty feet. He was exhausted, and his limbs were shaking. Maybe Garth could tell because when he slipped his arm back through Sam’s, he smiled up at him and said, “Hey, dude, lean on me. It’ll make this last stretch easier.” 

God help him, but Sam took Garth up on his offer. The extra support helped – a little. All in all, Sam Winchester was humiliated. He had a wooden cane and a human cane, and he still couldn’t get his ass across the room. 

“Just watch the floor, Sam,” Garth was saying patiently. “One foot in front of the other.” 

Sam listened, desperate to get to wherever Dean was. He watched the floor: One step, two step. Ugly brown flower, uglier blue fleur-de-lis, Ugly brown flower – the pattern repeated over, and over, and over. And then Garth stopped. 

“Okay, man,” he said softly. “Here you go.”

Sam looked up. It took several seconds before he realized that the guttural scream he heard was his own.

+

“ _DEAN!_ ,” Sam shouted, hurling himself forward and nearly breaking his fool neck. Garth caught him as his leg buckled, and Sam’s weight nearly took them both down, but Garth was a strong little bastard, and he managed to hold on until Sam steadied himself on the side of Dean’s coffin. 

_Dean’s coffin._

“Wh-what the fuck is going on, Garth?” Sam rasped out. 

“Sam,” Garth said, tears in his eyes. “Don’t do this man – not here, not now.”

Sam could feel the eyes of everyone there watching him, watching Dean. 

“Get. Them. Out.” Sam said through gritted teeth. The teeth moved, and he became aware of an odd sensation against the roof of his mouth. Holy hell, he was wearing dentures. 

“Sam—“ Garth said pleadingly. 

“Get them out, Garth. _NOW_.” 

“Okay, okay, compadre. Hold your horses.”

Sam stood, holding tightly to the sides of Dean’s coffin, trying to ignore the tremors running through his body, the shaking that had started in his core and threatened to break him apart. 

_Fuck._ What was he doing here? _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

“Sir?”

Sam whipped his head around and nearly lost his grip. The tall, young man who obviously worked for the funeral home reached out and grabbed Sam’s forearm. “Would you like a chair, sir?”

“No—I mean, yes, thanks,” Sam managed to choke out. 

The man gestured at someone standing out in the hallway, and a chair was placed beside the coffin. The man offered his arm to Sam, and he took it, allowing himself to be seated. He flinched at the man’s pat of comfort on his shoulder and the soft, “We’re sorry for your loss.”

He listened as Garth and the man ushered everyone out. Sam didn’t hear any protestations from the attendees. 

“Who the fuck are these people, Dean?,” he asked his brother. 

Dean lay still in an ebony coffin. The jade colored silk lining emphasized his brother’s paleness. Sam reached a shaking, aged hand out and traced the deep lines in Dean’s face – evidence of his joy, of his pain, _of his fucking life_. 

“Sam?,” a female voice behind him broke into his reverie. 

“What?,” he asked. He didn’t know who it was, nor did he care. 

It was Marta. “Charlie wanted to tell you goodbye,” she said. 

Sam turned his head and saw the little boy from earlier. He was wide-eyed again, and those eyes – with a shock, Sam realized they were _his._ He reached a hand out to the boy, and Charlie came running over, jumping up on Sam’s lap and giving him a hug.

“Sorry about your brother,” Charlie said. Sam hugged him tight, realizing that this child had to be his – his _grandchild_. That meant he had kids, or at least _a_ kid. So where was his wife? Where was Dean’s family? 

“Thanks, kid,” he muttered. 

“See you later?”

“Of course,” Sam said, not knowing if he would ever see the boy again or not. He waved as the boy walked out with Marta but turned back when he heard a ruckus. Charlie came running up to him. 

“Charlie!,” Marta called out, exasperated. 

“Here, Pops,” he said, digging into his pockets. “I got something for you. It’ll make you happy.”

“What?” Sam asked, touched by the boy’s earnestness. He saw echoes of another boy in him – one just as earnest who, Christmases ago, had committed larceny to get Sam a gift that would make him happy.

“This,” the boy said, handing a wooden figure to Sam. “Dean sent it to me for Christmas last year.” 

“Don’t you want to keep it?,” Sam asked. 

“Nah – he's sent me others. This one’s yours.”

“Thanks, kid,” Sam said, reaching out to hug the boy again. The little arms went tightly around his neck and were just as quickly gone, the boy’s tennis shoes silent across the carpet as he ran back out to his mother. 

Sam looked down at the figurine that fit in the palm of his hand, at its finely wrought features, the meticulous detailing. He looked at his brother, lifeless and still; he reached out for Dean’s hand, and felt its cold hardness. 

There was no vestige of his brother’s warmth and vitality.

Sam broke then; his keening echoed hollowly in the now-empty room.

+

Sam heard someone pull a chair up and raised his head. It was Garth. “What’s going on, Sam?”

Sam passed a hand over his face. “Garth, I’m not Sam – I mean, I’m not your Sam. I shouldn’t be here.”

Garth narrowed his eyes at Sam, as if he was evaluating him, and then nodded. “Okay,” he said. 

“What’s this world like?,” Sam asked. “I mean, are we hunters? Was there an apocalypse?”

“Oh, yeah, Sam,” Garth said. “The Winchesters were famous – infamous, really, and there were multiple apocalypses. Dean went to hell, then you and Adam. Cas got you out and released Adam to heaven. Then Dean and Castiel went to Purgatory, and then –“

“Cas!,” Sam said, feeling some hope. “Where’s Cas? He can fix this.” 

“Sam,” Garth said somberly. “Cas is dead – has been for decades.”

“No, no, no,” Sam muttered. “There has to be someone to fix this.” 

Garth shook his head. “Okay, I haven’t done this in a while, but let’s retrace. If you’re not the Sam from now, when are you from?”

“September 17, 2013.”

“Oh, wow,” Garth said. “Dude, it’s 2051.”

Sam nodded his head. “Bout what I figured,” he said, gesturing at his age-spot-riddled hand. “I don’t really want to see the rest of me,” he said. 

“What happened to Dean, Garth?” 

Garth took a deep breath and looked at Sam with sympathy. “This isn’t going to be easy to hear, bro.” 

Sam nodded once. “Just tell me.”

+

“It was 2015. You and Dean had saved the world again – you shut the gates of hell; he shut the gates of heaven –”

“Why didn’t it kill us?,” Sam asked. “Naomi said closing the gates required the ultimate sacrifice –”

“Uh, it did,” Garth said. “I helped Cas recover your bodies.”

“Then how–?”

Garth sighed. “Cas lost it. He and Dean had been together about a year—”

“Uh- _what_ ?,” Sam choked out. 

Garth looked at Sam with confusion until realization dawned on his face. “Oh, yeah, you said you were from 2013, right?” He chuckled. “Newsflash: Dean and Cas are in love; they just won’t admit it. But they will soon.”

 _Huh_ , Sam thought. _That explains a lot…_

“So, like I was saying,” Garth continued, “Cas and Dean were in a serious relationship and hoping to get married after they saved the world. They knew Dean might die – thing was, if he did, Cas planned to die with him. Only Dean trussed him up and left him in the bunker, and by the time Cas got free and got to him – it was too late.”

Garth paused a minute, pressing his lips together to halt their trembling.

“He tried to get to you, then, knowing that Dean would want him to, but you were dead too. And that’s when Cas completely fell apart. He tried to commit suicide, but he kept coming back – we never did figure out if it was an angelic fuck-you or if he just had enough residual grace to heal his body. Poor bastard did everything – poison, slit wrists… He even cut his own damn throat, Sam; he was laying there on the floor of the bunker, still conscious, damn near decapitated, when Kevin and I got in from a supply run. We had to hold his head on his neck and watch his parts knit back together.”

Sam ran a hand over his face and wished he could dull the horror. Poor Cas. 

“We had buried the two of you,” Garth said. “Cas wouldn’t let us burn you, said he was going to get both of you back.”

Garth looked down at the floor, his head bowed, his shoulders hunched. “And then it got real bad,” he said. “As if near-decapitation wasn’t bad enough.”

“What did he do, Garth?”

“He forced God to make a deal.” 

Sam startled in his chair. “He found God?”

“Not exactly. He found a spell that forced God’s hand, so to speak, and he invoked some Enochian ritual of sacrifice and resurrection – apparently similar to what was used oh, some two thousand years ago. It was awful, Sam… Kevin and I helped him because he had no one else, but it damn near killed me to see it. And Kevin – well, Kevin was never the same. It fucked us up for real.”

“What did he do?” Sam asked, not sure he wanted to know. 

“The ritual involved continuous chanting until the resurrection – Cas couldn’t do it since the spell had required that he cut out his own tongue, which he did without flinching, and then added it to the ceremonial bowl per the directions.”

Sam grimaced at the image. “He didn’t heal?”

“Not if his parts weren’t put back together – the bleeding stopped, the wound healed over, but no regeneration. So Kevin and I did the chanting for him.”

“Was that it?”

Garth shuddered. “Not by a long shot. We had exhumed your bodies, and Cas had already prepared them according to the ritual. Your bodies were in such bad shape, but I will never forget the way Cas touched Dean’s face – what was left of it, anyway.”

Garth wiped his eyes. Sam did the same. _Shit_ , he thought. _How much more did we have to survive?_

Sam almost didn’t want to know, but he had to. “What happened then?”

“After he removed his tongue, and we initiated the ceremony, Cas crucified himself. He hung there in agony, bleeding from the sigil markings that he’d carved into his own body so deeply that the flesh wouldn't mend, yet he never made a sound, never cried, just suffered in silence. And at exactly 48 hours on the clock, you and Dean moved.”

Garth laughed mirthlessly. “Scared me shitless man, Kevin too. I was afraid y’all would be zombies or something, but damn if Dean didn’t rip the covering off his face and yell “What the hell” as if he hadn’t been dead for six months.”

Sam watched the emotions play over his old friend’s face, as he was lost in the memories for a moment. Garth pulled himself out of it and steeled himself. “But then Dean saw Cas, and oh my God, Sam, I – I didn’t know what he was going to do. He tried to get off the platform but Cas had restrained both of you with chains, and he’d made me and Kevin take a blood oath not to release you until the ritual was done.”

Garth swallowed hard. “So Dean lay there thrashing, cutting himself on the chains till blood ran onto the floor. It took you longer to come to, but when you did, you started fighting the restraints too, and Cas – he hung there, watching Dean – you too, but mostly Dean – like he was the second coming.”

“When did the ritual end?” Sam asked. 

“When Cas burst into flame, and his atoms were scattered across the universe.”

“So his soul didn’t go to heaven? Or to hell?”

“No – to bring both of you back, he had to sacrifice his life and his soul.”

Garth looked at Dean’s still body, his brow furrowed. “When Cas burs—died, Dean went insane. I let you out of your restraints first, and we tried to handle Dean, but he was out of his mind with grief. He grabbed the ax Cas had used to chop down the evergreen tree for his cross, and he went at us – messed your leg up and chopped off my hand.”

“Oh, God, Garth. Dean would’ve never done that in his right mind.”

Garth shrugged and waved away Sam’s dismay. “No worries, Sam. I got off easy.” He nodded towards Dean. “He couldn’t handle living without Cas – he tried; he really did. We talked him into doing that much. But one morning, he didn’t get up. You went in to check on him, and he was lying in the bed, eyes open, breathing, but otherwise unresponsive. That was 36 years ago.”

“The doctors said he was catatonic and admitted him to the long-term psych ward,” Garth continued. “About a decade ago, his lucid periods became more frequent and lasted longer, and eventually, he was allowed to carve as part of his physical therapy, though never with anything more than a pen knife and never without supervision.” Garth motioned at the wooden figurine in Sam’s hand. “He made those for everybody. He wouldn’t see any of us, not even you, but he’d send those for Christmas.”

“So Dean and I—“

“Haven’t seen each other in over ten years. When he regained enough awareness to understand where he was, he refused all visitors, filed the paperwork and everything to keep us out. I had contacts there, and they kept an eye on him for us, maintained the salt lines and hidden protection sigils in his room.” Garth looked down at the ugly-ass carpet. “I had to do at least that much for him and Cas.”

Sam couldn’t help the sob that escaped him. “We’d have been better off dead,” Sam said.

“Well, that may be true for Dean,” Garth said. “But you, Sam, you managed a life. You got married; you had a kid, a son you named John Dean – JD –Winchester; and you’ve lived a long, full life, even without your brother.”

Sam looked at Garth, tears in his eyes. “But where is my wife now? My kid? I think I met my grandson ---“

“Yeah, Charlie; he’s a good kid,” Garth said. “Your wife died of ovarian cancer about 15 years ago, and your son died in a car wreck not long after Charlie was born. You and Marta don’t get along, but that kid idolizes you.” 

Sam nodded, trying to take it all in. He and Garth sat in silence until Garth abruptly got up in response to something in the hallway. He returned quickly and said softly, “We have to go, Sam. They need to close the funeral home.”

“I don’t want to leave Dean,” Sam said stubbornly. His brother should have been a husband, a father, a grandfather – not a prisoner in a mental hospital carving figures in futility. 

“I know,” Garth said. “Dean’s will allowed for him to lie in state, if you wanted – which you did – but then he wanted to be cremated. You’ll get his ashes at the service, and then you can keep him with you.”

“It’s not the same.”

“It hasn’t been the same in almost forty years, Sam. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

+

When Garth parked in front of an assisted living center, Sam grunted in disgust. He should have known – age spots, fucked up leg, dentures – of course he lived in an old folks home. 

Garth must have seen his expression. “It’s not so awful. According to you, the Widow Callahan has the hots for you bad.”

That made Sam laugh, and it felt good, though the laugh sounded creaky and hollow. “Where do you live?,” Sam asked. 

“My wife and I live about five minutes away. You and I play chess once a week, and you join us on holidays. Marta brings Charlie to see you once a month; he’d love to see you more, but she… uh… well, it’s not that the two of you fight. But after she and JD separated, I think it was just too hard for her to stay connected to you, and then when he died, it was just too painful. She keeps her distance, so Charlie has to also.”

“That’s sad,” Sam said, already feeling love for a boy whom he didn’t even know.

“It’s life,” Garth said. “Here, let’s get you inside.”

+

Garth escorted Sam to his suite and got him settled in his rocking chair. “Want me to stay a little longer?,” Garth asked.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Sam said. Garth turned on the wall screen, and they watched a news segment about mudslides on the West Coast. 

Sam couldn’t focus on mudslides or storm warnings. He shifted in his chair to face Garth. “Why do you think I’m here? I don’t even know who sent me – or how to get back. Am I supposed to fix things? Or is this a punishment, to live out my days as a geezer – no offense.”

Garth laughed. “No offense taken, dude. I am a geezer and glad to be considering that until you and Dean closed the gates, the average hunter lifespan was what – forty years if we were lucky?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Sam said, thoughtfully.

“I don’t know why you’re here either, Sam. But –“ he hesitated “—since you’re not this Sam, I have something that you might want to see, just in case you do get back to your time.”

Garth left the room and was back in 15 minutes, carrying a metal box. 

“I recognize that,” Sam said. “Dean kept it in the trunk of the Impala – speaking of, where is she?”

“Dean beat the shit out of her and set her on fire during one of his fits. You and I came back from a hunt and found her destroyed. He spaced out about a week and a half later, and you were so distraught that you asked us to get rid of her.”

“Did you?”

“Nah, man. I couldn’t bring myself to. What’s left of her is in a storage building on some property I own in Lebanon.”

Sam shook his head. “This just gets worse and worse. Except for you, Garth. Thanks for being such a good friend to me and Dean and Cas.”

“Of course, dude. You would do the same for me.”

 _I hope I would_ , Sam thought to himself, pondering how much this skinny, occasionally annoying, but completely endearing man had done for his family. He took the box from Garth’s outstretched hand. 

“What’s in here?,” Sam asked. “The box looks singed.”

“It is. It was in the trunk when the car burned. I managed to salvage it along with a few of the weapons. Open it.”

Sam did and gasped at the contents. He looked up at Garth. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, man. Your brother had it bad for a long time.”

Sam held up a brittle and faded angel’s feather. And there was a leather bracelet – he had a vague memory of his Dean wearing one imprinted with his initials – but this wasn’t Dean’s. “Is that a C etched into the leather?,” he asked.

Garth nodded. 

Sam found a couple of cards – some goofy apology card that Cas had gotten for Dean during his communing with bees and harvesting honey, pre-Purgatory, hippie angel phase. Dean had raged over the fruitlessness of the damn thing, yet here it was. The other card was a gushy, sentimental anniversary card. Sam opened it, and the note inside was simple: _I love you, Cas._

Sam jerked and dropped the card. 

“I know,” Garth said. “That one tore me up. Dean died before he could give it to him. They would’ve been together a year that October.”

There was a cloth bag filled with items, and Sam opened it. Inside was a hand-carved wooden cat; Cas had always wanted a cat. There were iron and copper rings, simple pottery pieces, and . . . 

“Garth, what is all this? Dean sure as hell didn’t make copper rings or pottery in my timeline.”

“No, he didn’t,” Garth said, scuffing the floor. “The loose stuff is what was already in the box when I rescued it from the Impala. The other stuff in the bag? That’s what Dean has sent once a year.”

Sam knew his confusion showed on his face. “Why?”

“He started 10 years or so ago, when his mind became clearer. The first package had a ton of stuff in it – 27 years worth of gifts: the cat, the rings, the pottery pieces, the aluminum sculpture, and I don’t remember what all else.”

“Dean included a note that simply said ‘put it with the rest,’” Garth continued. “That note should still be in there, if you want to see.” Sam rustled around and found the scrap of paper with the faded blue ink – his brother’s handwriting ghosting across the page. It made his heart hurt.

“I didn’t know what the hell it all was at first,” Garth explained. “Honestly, I thought it was further proof that Dean wasn’t Dean anymore. But my wife knew as soon as she saw everything: They’re anniversary gifts, Sam. Dean followed the traditional calendar until he couldn’t – it’s not like he could get a hold of pearls in a psych hospital, you know. But after that first backlog of stuff, every year, around Sept. 18th, he sent a single gift for Cas, and I put it in that box.”

Garth looked at Sam somberly. “I never told the other Sam about the box or the gifts; that guy has had a good life, but losing his wife took its toll, and his son’s death nearly undid him. Dean’s reclusiveness also didn’t sit well, especially when he was admitted to the hospital with pneumonia last week and still wouldn’t let you visit—and Dean actually dying? That was the last straw.”

Sam shook his head with a weariness that permeated his soul. How anyone could live under this weight he didn’t know. “I don’t know how he made it this long, Garth. I would have blown my brains out years ago.”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” Garth said vehemently. Sam actually recoiled from the force of his tone. “If you had seen what was left of Cas be-be-,” Garth paused, the words sticking in his throat. He swallowed. “Before he combusted, you would have lived too. Anything otherwise is an unforgivable sin.”

Sam nodded. “I’m sorry, Garth. You’re right – I, uh, I wasn’t thinking.” He looked at the hunter whom he realized now he’d never fully appreciated. “Cas was lucky to have you looking out for him. Us too.”

Garth breathed out with a rush of air. “It was the least I could do.” He looked at his watch. “Hey, Lily’s going to be wondering where I am, and I have to make sure she takes her heart medicine. You going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “If I do get back to my timeline, just know I won’t forget this, Garth.” He reached his hand out, and Garth grasped it – two once-strong hands, now weakened and mottled with age. 

Even though he should have anticipated it, Garth’s classic bear hug took Sam by surprise. “I’ve missed you,” Garth said. 

“I thought you said we hang out?”

“We do,” Garth said. “But I’ve missed the Sam you are now.” Garth shrugged. “I can’t blame my Sam for changing. It’s just nice to see that sparkle in your eye again.” He smiled and tapped Sam on the shoulder. “Take care of yourself. I’ll check on you tomorrow, though I hope you’ll be back in 2013 by then.”

“Me too,” Sam said, thinking of how much he wanted to see his brother and Cas again.

Garth was at the door when he turned back. “Hey Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“When you see Dean and Cas –” Garth’s voice broke, and he shuddered with the force of the sob he was holding back. “Hug them for me?” 

“Sure thing,” Sam said, tears standing in his eyes. 

Garth blinked, sending tears coursing down his cheeks. “Thanks, man.” He grinned his goofy, ageless, Garth grin and left. 

Sam put his face in his hands and cried.

+

Around midnight, Sam got up stiffly from his chair and worked his way over to his bathroom. He stood looking in the mirror, taking inventory of the ravages of time. 

Some of the lines around his eyes might have been from happiness and love, but the furrow in his brow and the downturn of his lips bespoke of sorrow and pain. 

Sam sighed and looked away. He didn’t want to see anymore. On that note, he needed to pee badly but didn’t particularly want to see what his nearly seventy-year-old dick looked like either. 

He distracted himself by examining the pictures on the wall, the notes on the desk. And that was when he found it:

_Dear Sam,_

_You’re me – or, rather, I’m you. I’ve looked for decades to find this spell; I’m just sorry it’s taken this long, that I’m casting it now._

_I finally found the spell last month and finally got the last ingredient three days ago. Dean died 20 hours later._

_It’s too late to save my brother, but I beg you to save yours and to save yourself. I know how badly you want a normal, safe life, but there is nothing safe in this world, Sam._

_You are going to have to decide what you can live without. If I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t hesitate._

_I invoked the spell at 6 a.m., and it should have begun promptly at 6 p.m. It will reverse automatically at 6 a.m., though if something happens, I’ve included a force-reversal on the back of this note._

_But I beg you to let me have those 12 hours with my brother, and with Cas._

_Please._

_S.W._

Sam sat there with the note in his hand. He reached into his pocket and felt the wooden figurine and clasped it tightly. 

He would give his other self those 12 hours gladly, but then he wanted his life back, his brother back – actually, make that his _brothers_ , he thought, as it sunk in that the former angel would, someday, be his brother-in-law. He smiled at the thought.

He shifted in the chair and winced. Dammit, he had to pee. Sam gingerly made his way to the bathroom to relieve himself. He just tried not to look – let’s preserve some mystery, he thought.

Sam picked up a well-worn photo album from beside the bed and spent the next several hours looking through it, reading all the notes etched in his own haphazard writing. 

He found a loose photograph of Charlie and wanted desperately to take it back with him, along with the figurine, he decided. Sam tried to think of the best way; his clothes hadn’t come with him, but maybe if he had it in his hand, touching his flesh? 

He also took a moment and wrote himself a letter, leaving it in the center of the desk:

_Dear Sam,_

_Thank you for this – for casting the spell, for letting me see a glimpse of what might-be._

_As much as I want a safe life, I can’t lose Dean – not again. Purgatory was bad enough; knowing that I could have looked for him, gotten a reaper to get him out… well, you know how that haunts me._

_Know that I will do everything in my power to save Dean and Cas. Everything._

_Give Charlie a hug for me. After meeting him and looking through your photographs, I see glimpses of the man your – our? – son must have been in him. That makes me happy._

_I hope that your 12 hours with Dean were good ones. I hope they gave you strength._

_Take care of yourself, old man._

_SW_

Sam glanced at the clock; it was 5:15 a.m. He picked up the letter left for him, the photo of Charlie, and the figurine, and he clasped all three items tightly in his hand. 

Sitting in the rocker, he waited for the last minutes to tick by.

+

Sam woke up on a couch, his head leaning against a solid, comforting presence; he smelled leather and sandalwood. 

“Dean?,” he asked groggily.

“Hey Sammy,” his brother said. Sam realized he was leaning against Dean, and his brother had his arm around him. Cas, sitting to his left, laid his hand on Sam’s. “Are you okay?,” Cas asked. 

“Yeah,” Sam muttered, scrubbing his free hand over his face. He raised up from where he’d been leaning on Dean’s shoulder and leaned against the back of the couch. “Had the weirdest dream.” He looked at his brother. “God, man, am I glad to see you – and you too,” he said to Cas. 

Dean and Cas exchanged a look – _Wait_ , Sam thought. _That was a dream, right?_ – and Cas tapped the back of Sam’s hand with his index finger. Sam watched with detachment as the hand turned over, revealing a piece of paper, Charlie’s photograph, and the figurine. 

“Oh, shit,” Sam breathed. The weight of two worlds crashed against his mind, and the room went black.

When he came to, Cas was holding a paperbag to his mouth and telling him to breathe; Dean had situated Sam so that his head was lying on Dean’s thigh, and he was running his fingers through Sam’s long hair. Dean’s voice said, “It’s okay, Sam. It’s going to be okay.” And he kept saying it, as if he was stuck on endless repeat.

Sam listened to the words, to the timbre of his brother’s voice, to the gravitas of Cas’s, and he tried to anchor himself to them. He didn’t want to get snapped back through time again. 

He must have said that out loud because Cas said, “You won’t. The other Sam – he told us – said it’s a one-time per person spell. Unless he was lying, that is.”

Sam raised his eyebrow. “He-here’s the reversal,” he said, handing the letter to Cas. “Can you tell for sure from this?”

“Let me see,” Cas said, taking the paper and examining it closely. He began talking, mostly to himself. “Hmmm. Based on the language, if I extrapolate…” He grabbed a pen and paper from the coffee table and started jotting down notes. “Okay, yes. This isn’t a perfect rendition, and likely wouldn’t work, even if we located all the ingredients, though if we substituted…”

“ _Cas_ ,” the brothers said in unison.

Cas started. “Sorry.” He pointed at some words in the reversal spell. “These spellings and word usages suggest the influence of ancient Sumerian and—”

“Cas, man, you’re killing us,” Dean said. “Single serve or not?”

“Single,” Cas said, nodding. “Old Sam told the truth.”

Relief washed over Sam, Dean too obviously. “I feel for the guy,” Sam said. “But I don’t want his life.”

“None of us do,” Dean said. “Poor guy was miserable. He wouldn’t tell us much, though – wouldn’t have admitted to the switch except Cas sensed the difference.”

“Really Cas?,” Sam asked. “How could you tell?”

The former angel shrugged. “His aura was all wrong. I knew as soon as I saw him,” Cas said. 

“Wait, you can see auras?,” Dean asked incredulously. “When were you going to share that with the class?”

“When it was relevant,” Cas said. “It’s relevant.” He met Dean’s look, and this time, Sam could tell the precise moment that it shifted into something else. How had he missed the undertones before?

Cas tilted his head at Dean. “Want me to tell you what your aura looks like right now?”

“Uh, no. That’s okay,” Dean said, looking away and clenching his jaw. Sam knew this was his brother’s _do not look embarrassed_ face. What would he be embarrassed abou— _oh_. If Cas could read auras, then Cas _knew_ , and now Dean knew that Cas knew… 

Yeah, looks like Garth was right. 

“Hey, guys, what day is it?,” Sam asked. 

“September 18th,” Dean said. 

“The anniversary,” Cas said at the same time. 

“What?,” Dean asked, looking at Cas. 

“It’s the five year anniversary of your resurrection. Don’t you remember?,” Cas said.

“Yeah, dude, I remember,” Dean said. “Not like I’d forget. You just never referred to it as an anniversary before.”

“Yes, I did. You just didn’t know that I did. Doesn’t make it any less of an anniversary,” Cas said pointedly.

Oh, yeah, Sam thought. They’d get things figured out soon.

Dean cleared his throat and turned his attention back to Sam. “Okay, little brother, tell us what you know.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “But I need coffee.”

+

Eight o’clock found the three of them sitting around the table, sitting in silence as Sam’s story ended. 

“So that’s it,” he said.

“You sure?,” Dean asked. “You’re not leaving anything out for our own good or some shit like that?”

“No, Dean,” Sam said. Dean narrowed his eyes at him, and Sam shrugged. “I was going to, okay?” he admitted. “But I think we stand a better chance of changing the future if we all know the cards.”

Dean nodded. He was staring at his coffee cup, carefully not looking at Cas, who was also carefully not looking at him. 

Sam wondered what it felt like to be outed _Back to the Future_ style. Judging by the look on Dean’s face, it wasn’t the best feeling in the world. Cas’s face was carefully neutral, but Sam knew better. 

This situation was a powderkeg that desperately needed defusing. Sam wondered how best to do that. 

“It sucks,” Dean said. 

“Understatement,” Cas said.

“Well, I was trying to be positive,” Dean said. 

Sam sighed. “Guys. We can't let that future happen –”

“You had the life you wanted, though,” Dean said. He gestured at the photo Sam still held. “You met your grandson, for christ’s sake. If we don’t do – all of that – then he might not exist.”

Sam looked at the face of the young boy whose arms he could still feel around his neck. He shook his head and laid the picture face down on the table. 

“Maybe not,” he said. “But I will not live in that world, Dean. I can’t. I need my brother – hell, I need my _brothers_.” Sam pointedly looked at Cas, whose eyes widened slightly. “Besides,” Sam said, running a finger over the date-stamped back, “there’s a difference between dying and never being born.” 

“Can you live with him never being born?,” Dean asked levelly.

“Better than I can with you dying,” Sam answered just as levelly. “You met future me; did he seem like someone who considered his life a good one?”

Dean looked contemplative, and then he nodded. “Okay, then.”

“So we don’t shut the gates,” Cas said. “What do we do?”

“Maybe we start working on how to neutralize the tablets instead? How to restore the natural order?,” Dean asked. 

“Death’ll be happy to hear a Winchester advocate for that,” Sam said.

Dean shuddered. “Can we not mention his name? You know he’s freaking omnipotent; I’d rather he not think we’re gossiping about him.”

Sam let out a short laugh at that image. “Yeah, sure,” Sam said before succumbing to an enormous yawn. 

“You should get some sleep,” Dean said. “Why don’t you go to bed?”

Sam shrugged. “I – uh – I’m fine.” He didn’t want to go to his room, didn’t want to be alone.

Thankfully, Cas understood what he couldn’t bring himself to say. “Why don’t you just rest on the couch for a while, then?,” Cas asked. 

Sam smiled gratefully. “Okay.”

Sam headed for the kitchen door but turned back. He watched Dean gather their mugs and put them in the sink, watched Cas carry his teapot to the trivet on the stove. 

“Everything okay, Sam?” Cas asked. Dean turned around at the sink to look at his brother. 

Sam looked at them, _really_ looked at them, and he recognized fully and wholly that nowhere else would he find people he was so willing to forgive or who were willing to forgive him. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Everything’s great.”

“Oh, and I almost forgot,” he said, walking over to Dean and Cas and pulling them into a tight bear hug. They hugged back, and the three stood interlocked, holding onto their reality. Sam felt Dean’s breath hitch and Cas’s shoulders tremble. Tears filled his eyes. 

He pulled back, and clapped them on their shoulders, not meeting their eyes. “That’s from Garth,” he said in a voice thick with emotion. “Me too, but also Garth.” He ducked his head and left the room. 

+

Dean sagged back against the edge of the sink and pressed his palms into his eyes. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Cas said. “We’ll make sure none of that happens.”

“What if we can’t?,” Dean asked, not looking at his friend. 

“We will.” Cas leaned against the sink beside Dean. “We’ll change as much as we can for the good, and see what happens.”

His leg brushed against Dean’s, who felt the heat travel up his body. Dean took a breath for courage. 

“How about we stop beating around the bush, then,” Dean said gruffly. Dean’s heart was pounding. _Stop being such a girl, Winchester_ , he scolded himself. He reached his left arm out and put it around Cas’s waist. Cas stiffened, and Dean froze, wondering if maybe he’d misjudged. But then Cas relaxed, leaning into Dean and slipping his arm around him too. Dean liked the way that felt.

He thought of the story Sam had told them, how in trying to save each other, he and Cas had damned one another instead. He pressed a kiss to Cas’s temple. 

“Can’t lose you,” he muttered, pulling Cas into a full embrace.

Cas looked into his eyes. “Can’t lose you either,” he said. 

Dean brought him closer, until their bodies were flush against each other, the weight sparking a pool of heated anticipation deep inside. “Why didn’t we do this before?,” he asked. 

“Does that matter?,” Cas asked, touching a finger lightly to Dean’s jaw, sweeping his thumb across his lips. 

Dean kissed the pad of Cas’s thumb, who smiled in return. “No,” Dean whispered, looking into the blue eyes of the being who had changed his life five years ago. Without thinking, he leaned in and pressed his lips to Cas’s. 

The kiss was simple and sincere. Cas kissed back, his hand slipping around the back of Dean’s neck as Dean’s arms tightened around him. Dean felt Cas’s invitation, his request and parted his lips. The kiss deepened. He explored Cas’s mouth, shuddering with need as Cas responded, as they committed this unfamiliar terrain to memory.

Cas tasted like strawberries, Dean decided, wondering if he would taste the same in the morning. Dean would get to find out. 

+

Cas and Dean were sitting on the smaller sofa, ostensibly watching some television show, when Sam woke up. It was obvious to him, though, that things had changed in the past two hours. 

There was an ease between the two that hadn’t been there before. Cas’s smile was softer; the tightness around Dean’s eyes relaxed. The powderkeg had been defused. 

They didn’t know Sam was awake, and he watched them through his lashes, taking comfort in their presence, in the low rumble of their voices, and in the evidence of their bond. 

Dean reached into his pants pocket and pulled out something that he held tightly.

“Remember what you said earlier? About the anniversary?,” he asked Cas.

“Of course, why?”

“Uh – I – um – I made you something,” Dean said. 

“For our anniversary?” Cas asked, and Sam knew his friend was smirking at Dean’s blatant violation of his no-sentimentality front. 

“No—I mean, yes—I mean… look, just take it, Cas.”

Sam saw Cas take it from Dean’s hand. Cas turned it over in his hands and smiled that brilliant smile of his, the very one that Sam knew turned Dean to mush.

When Cas leaned forward and kissed Dean, who kissed back without hesitation, Sam closed his eyes and willed himself back to sleep. He happily gave them their moment. 

Sam woke up sometime later. They were asleep on the sofa, Dean’s head on Cas’s chest, Cas’s arm tight around him. Cas’s gift was sitting on the edge of the coffee table; Sam had known what it was without looking: the little cat, made of wood because that’s what one gave for five-year anniversaries. 

Sam covered his Dean and Cas with a lightweight throw; then picked up his grandson’s photo and the wooden figurine of a trench-coated Castiel, taking both to his room. 

+

**September 18, 2014**

“Sam!,” Garth said. “Good to see you, man!” He gestured at the petite young woman beside him. “This is Lily,” he said. “Lily, this is Sam, one of the best hunters on the planet.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Sam said, shaking her hand. _So this is Lily_ , he thought, watching how she and Garth interacted. He could see the beginnings of a long, happy relationship. 

“Need any help?”

“Nah, man, just have a seat for now. You brought what you need, right?”

Garth tapped his jacket, indicating the inside pocket. “Oh yeah. No way I’d forget.”

Sam smiled. “I’ll be back,” he said. 

+

Dean was pacing. And swearing. And pacing some more. 

“Calm down, Dean,” Sam said. 

“This looks stupid, and my damned tie is crooked.”

“No it doesn’t, and no it isn’t. You’re inventing stuff to bitch about, Dean.”

“Shut up.”

“If you can survive hell and purgatory, you can survive marriage,” Sam responded calmly.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Dean muttered.

Sam shook his head. “What’s going to be different? You’ll have rings and a piece of paper, and that’s it.”

“No, Sam,” Dean said. “It’s not just rings and paper – it’s the most important thing I’ve ever done in my life, besides making sure you reached adulthood.”

“You realize you’re saying that when you’ve saved the world umpteen times?”

“Yeah, I do. And I still mean every word,” Dean said.

“And that, Dean, is why you’ll survive marriage.”

Dean stopped pacing. “Huh,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Maybe you’re right. Hey, this vest doesn’t look too bad, does it?”

“You look good, Dean,” Sam said with a proud smile. “I’m going to check on Cas; see you in five?”

“With bells on,” Dean said.

+

Cas was pacing too, but without the swearing. 

“How’re you doing, Cas?” Sam asked. 

Cas looked up at Sam – “Um… good, I think. Is it normal to feel like the ground might open up and swallow you whole?”

“Before you get married? Uh, yeah, or so I hear,” Sam said. “You need anything?”

“I need to know how Dean is, if he’s still … okay with this.”

“He’s more than okay, Cas. He’s over the fucking moon.”

Cas smiled. “Good.”

+

“Hey Garth,” Sam said. “It’s almost time – Places, everybody,” he called out. 

Kevin provided the music; he’d practiced for months to get back to performance quality. As he began his warm-up scales, Sam scanned the crowd. 

Dark, glossy curls caught his attention, and it took him a minute to realize why. The woman turned her face, and his breath caught. It was his wife. 

“Hey, Garth, who’s that?” he asked, subtly gesturing. 

Garth looked over. “Oh, that’s Kathy,” he said. “She’s a friend of Lily’s from work; I thought it’d help if Lily had company since she doesn’t know anyone yet. That okay?”

“Oh, yeah, absolutely,” Sam said. He couldn't take his eyes off of her.

Garth watched him a moment and smiled. “She’s single. Want me to introduce you after the ceremony?”

Sam watched the woman whom he knew from photographs and written memories he hadn’t lived. “Yes, please,” he said. 

“Ready, Sam?” Kevin asked. Sam looked to Charlie at the entrance, and she gave the thumbs up.

“Yeah, Kevin, Go for it.”

Kevin began playing, the strains of _Ode to Joy_ filling the small garden. 

Sam watched as Charlie walked down the aisle, tossing rose petals. _I wanna be a flower girl_ , she’d begged, so Dean and Cas had let her. 

She reached Sam and stood beside him; they were there for both grooms. 

Garth waited at the front to perform the ceremony. Sam smiled to himself. _Of course Garth would be their minister; how could he not be?_ He felt a twinge of sadness for old Garth, who never had the chance to perform the ceremony he’d gotten ordained for. 

Here came Dean and Cas, walking down the aisle, hand-in-hand. Green eyes lost in blue, smiles wide, souls mingled. 

It was a beautiful day, Sam thought to himself. He touched the rings in his pocket – special bands of entwined silver and iron. When Dean ordered the rings, Sam pretended he hadn’t looked up the anniversary protocol, that he didn’t know iron was for the sixth year. 

Let Dean have his secrets. Sam had his brothers. 

+

The wedding was attended by only a small group of friends, mostly hunters and researchers the Winchesters had become close to. 

But there were some attending who hadn’t been invited. 

The tall thin man in the long black coat tapped his silver-topped cane on the ground. “So,” he said. “Are these annoying protozoa doing what they’re supposed to now?” 

The short man ran his hand through his beard, smiling as the ceremony got underway. “They’re making it up as they go,” he said. “It’s what I love about them.” 

So many happy tears were being shed for this couple – Sam, Garth, Charlie, even Kevin, and, of course, Dean and Cas themselves, who could barely get through their vows they were so overcome.

The short man brushed away one of his own errant tears. 

“Oh, don’t be maudlin,” his companion said, seeing the gesture. 

“Bite me,” the shorter man replied with a smile.

They watched the ceremony in silence.

The taller figure finally spoke. “Did they change that future? It looks like they have from where I stand.”

The shorter one contemplated a moment, his mind exploring an infinite number of possibilities. “It seems so,” he finally said. 

“Good,” the tall one said. 

“Getting sentimental in your old age, are you?”

He shrugged elegantly. “They’ve grown on me. Particularly the mouthy one.”

“Thank you for helping future Sam locate that spell, by the way.”

The tall man drew himself up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, blinking out of sight.

The short man smirked. “Sure you don’t.”

The newlyweds walked by, hand in hand. He’d never seen two souls bound so tightly, forged on every plane of existence. Dean pulled Cas off into the shadow of a tree, pressing him against its trunk. He heard whispered _I love yous_ and smiled as the declarations turned into a serious make-out session.

“It’s good to see you again, guys,” he said quietly. "It's even better to see you happy."

Their invisible watcher blinked out, and the wedding celebration carried on. 

+

**Author's Note:**

> This story wrote itself. When I started, I had two things in mind -- Dean being a closet sentimentalist and keeping track of the anniversary and the related gifts and Sam sacrificing something to ensure a happy/happier ending for all of them. I also wanted God and Death involved/watching, though I didn't know how that would manifest until the end. 
> 
> Everything else just kind of happened, and though some parts are darker than I originally intended (really, I meant for this to be fluffy!), I like how it turned out. I hope that some of you do too!


End file.
